


Same Old Scene

by travels_in_time



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-09
Updated: 2010-10-09
Packaged: 2017-10-12 13:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/125364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travels_in_time/pseuds/travels_in_time
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What is it with you and drugs and handcuffs, Tyler?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Same Old Scene

**Author's Note:**

> Non-con drug use. Does that even make sense?
> 
> SPOILERS for the end of _Life on Mars_.
> 
> This was written from a prompt from the LoM Anonymous Pornfest. As it's me, though, there is no porn. The prompt: "After a terrible fight with the Guv about how to catch a crim, Sam gets caught by the baddie during a case. He ends up drugged out of his mind, hurt and handcuffed in a dark, scary place. Gene charges to the rescue and finds him. They can't get out yet so Gene reluctantly has to take care of Sam, who's acting crazier than usual."
> 
> In addition to the porn, I forgot the terrible fight with the Guv. /promptfail

Gene opened his eyes, but it didn't make any difference. It was pitch-dark in the warehouse. At least he hoped they were still in the warehouse, hoped that they hadn't been brought somewhere else and dumped while he was unconscious. The back of his head was throbbing. He rubbed at it and his hand came away wet. He hadn't been out long, then; the blood wasn't sticky yet.

He tried to get to his feet, but at the first movement his left leg gave out. He swore and decided to postpone walking for a bit.

"Tyler!"

No answer. He didn't expect much help from Tyler anyway. Not after they'd shot him up with whatever was in that syringe. Bloody bastards. They knew how he felt about drugs, thought it'd be funny to leave him and his deputy high as kites for the rest of CID to find while they made their getaway. He'd managed a lucky kick that broke the syringe intended for him. That had earned him the blow to the back of the head and, he suspected, a few well-placed kicks after he was out.

Tyler hadn't been so lucky. He remembered the panic in Sam's eyes as Wilson's thugs had held him motionless. He'd clenched his jaw shut as if determined not to make any sound as the needle had approached. But his eyes, his eyes had been fixed on Gene's, begging for help, pleading, apologizing--Gene couldn't tell which. Didn't want to think about it right now. He pushed the memory away and shouted louder.

"Tyler!"

He listened carefully, but there was no response. He wasn't sure if there would be. He had no idea what had been in the syringe, only that it wasn't likely to be fatal. Wilson wasn't a killer; he'd only have wanted to slow them down and have a laugh at their expense. But Gene didn't know if Sam would be unconscious, or babbling about pink elephants, or screaming at the walls. Not that that would be a change. "There's a thought," he muttered. "Maybe he's less of a nutter on drugs."

He thought he heard something, then. A sigh, maybe. "Tyler!" he shouted again, and listened. Definitely someone there somewhere, mumbling incoherently.

Standing up wasn't on the cards yet, much less walking. After some trial and error he managed a sort of hitching crawl towards the sound, dragging his useless leg behind him. It was impossible to know how far he'd gone. Only a few feet, probably, no matter that it felt agonizingly like miles. "Tyler! Where are you?"

"Dad?" The voice was surprisingly close; Gene adjusted direction and fumbled closer, reaching out until his hand closed on Sam's shoulder.

"No, it's the bleedin' tooth fairy. Hold still, right? Bastards nearly cracked me skull. I'm gonna check you over."

"Want my dad," Sam muttered petulantly.

Gene felt around carefully. Sam appeared to be lying on his side, propped against some pipes that ran alongside a wall. "I'll chalk that up as another instance of your spectacularly bad judgment, then. Seeing as how from what you've said, your dad left you early on and never came back. Whereas the Gene Genie never leaves his men hanging."

Sam was quiet for a moment, and Gene braced one hand against the wall and ran the other lightly over Sam's head. "Tell me if anything hurts." There was no wetness or stickiness, no readily apparent lumps. That was good. Concussion on top of drugs wouldn't have done Sam any favors. He wondered about Sam's face. Investigation was clearly warranted.

"Ow," Sam volunteered, and Gene's hand stilled. He traced the area gingerly.

"Here?" It was Sam's cheekbone, immediately under his eye. "That's where they hit you to start with. You're gonna have a hell of a bruise, but you should be okay otherwise."

Sam didn't respond, and Gene's stomach tightened. Sam was never that quiet. "Come on, get up. We need to get out of here before that stuff hits you harder."

There was a longish pause, and then a rattling sound. "Can't move." Sam's voice was too calm, almost dreamy. Dammit.

Gene felt around blindly, down the length of Sam's arms, trapped behind his back, down to his wrists, where his questing hands encountered exactly what he'd suspected. "Scumbags cuffed you to the pipes. That's lovely, that is. What is it with you and drugs and handcuffs, Tyler?" He felt around in his pockets, but they'd all been emptied. "I don't suppose they left you a key."

He felt Sam shrugging. "If it was in your jacket we're out of luck anyway. They took that off you when they shot you up. I'll check your other pockets, but I don't think they'll have made it that easy."

Checking Sam's pockets was easier said than done. The tight trousers Sam wore, the angle he was lying at, the fact that he wouldn't be still--"Christ, Sam, stop _squirming_ , how the hell am I supposed to--"

 _Oh_. That definitely wasn't a handcuff key in that front pocket. And those breathy little sounds that Sam was making were not protests at Gene's manhandling of him. Quite the opposite, it appeared.

 _Shit._ Gene pulled his hand away gently. "No keys, Sammy-boy. Sorry." He wasn't quite sure what he was apologizing for, and was suddenly glad of the total darkness.

There was an irritated sort of whine from Sam. Gene decided to ignore it. He shifted around to lean against the wall. "Ray knows where we are. Well, more or less. May take him a while, but he'll find us. Eventually."

There was silence for a while. Gene listened to Sam breathing, tried not to picture it in his mind: Sam sprawled helpless on the floor in his shirtsleeves, eyes closed, hands cuffed behind his back...

He frowned. Something about that image didn't look comfortable. Something besides the discomfort it was causing to him personally. He twisted out of his coat, wincing at the pain the movement brought to his leg, and rolled it up. Then he lifted Sam's head up slightly and shoved the coat under it. "Better?"

"Mmm," Sam said drowsily. "Thanks, Guv."

It was the first indication Sam had given that he knew who Gene was. He wasn't sure, under the circumstances, if that was a good thing or not.

They sat quietly again. Gene was just wondering if Sam had gone to sleep, when Sam said softly, "I can't see."

"Yeah, that would be because it's dark," Gene snapped.

"I went blind once before, when he--he was trying to kill me--" Sam's voice was trembling.

"No one's trying to kill you, you div." Gene reconsidered. "Well, no more than usual. They've drugged you and dumped us somewhere, do you remember any of that?"

"No." Relief was overwhelming in Sam's voice now. "No, no one's trying to kill me. Not anymore. They can't, can they? It's too late."

"Too late for what?" As usual, Gene was irritated and struggling to keep up with Sam's bizarre trains of thought; being literally in the dark as well as metaphorically was just icing on the cake.

Sam chuckled. "I must have died alone, a long long time ago."

It sounded vaguely familiar to Gene, as if Sam were quoting something, but it still sent a shiver up his spine. Forgetting that he'd resolved only moments before not to touch Sam again, he reached out and gripped his shoulder. To his surprise, Sam was shaking. "You're not dead. You're just--" _doped to the gills, handcuffed in the dark, and stuck with a randy senior officer._ "You're fine."

"I'm cold." Sam was shivering violently now.

It was slightly cool in the warehouse, but not uncomfortably so. Gene felt for Sam's forehead; it was beaded with sweat. Sam turned desperately towards the contact. "Cold," he insisted again. "It's dark, and I can't move, and I'm freezing. I'm dying. I thought it would be all right here, but nobody lives forever. I'm dead on the pavement, all alone."

Gene shook him slightly. "You're not dead, you useless tosser. You don't get to die until I say so, you hear me?"

"Although I wasn't there, he said I was his friend," Sam murmured.

"So, is this you on drugs, then?" Gene leaned back against the wall, resting his head against it. "'Cause I'm not seeing a lot of difference. Let me know when you come down, okay?"

"I'm down." Sam laughed again, a hysterical sort of sound. "On the ground, splat, in pieces maybe. You know you can't hold me forever."

Gene closed his eyes. "All right, one more time. You're not dead, you're not alone, and you're not bloody Elton John. You're right here with me, and you're gonna be okay. Are we all clear on that?"

Sam didn't appear to have heard him. His breath was coming faster; Gene could hear him twisting, struggling against the cuffs. "In pieces. Falling apart. Everything's falling apart. I can't--Gene? I can't see!"

"I know you can't see," Gene said wearily.

"Can't see you. Don't leave. Please don't leave me."

Sam was still struggling. "Be still, you're only going to hurt yourself," Gene ordered. He rested a hand on Sam's shoulder again. "I'm right here. I'm not leaving."

"I can't _breathe_ ," Sam said urgently. "I can't--help me!"

He was breathing, though. Too hard, too fast, as if he'd forgotten how and was trying to do it manually. Without thinking, Gene slid his hand over Sam's chest. The thin shirt was no barrier. He could feel Sam's heart beating so fast that it seemed to want to break right through his ribs.

Dammit, where was Ray? It wouldn't matter whether Wilson intended to kill him or not, if Sam had a bad reaction. He'd seen kids like that, kids who'd died just from one dose of whatever crap they'd shot into themselves. He couldn't let it happen again. Not here, not to his DI. "Calm down, Sam. It's just the drugs, you're okay."

Sam wasn't calming, was struggling harder, his heartbeat only accelerating. "Help me!" he pleaded, and he was nearly crying, panicking, his breathing completely out of control.

He had no idea what to do, was running purely on instinct, grabbing both of Sam's shoulders, holding him tightly. "I'm here. It's okay. Listen to me, Sam--"

" _Gene_ \--" Sam was begging for something, and Gene would have given him anything right at that moment, if he could have figured out what Sam needed.

He fell back on what had always worked for him before. He'd hitched himself around until he was facing Sam, still holding on tightly, and he took a deep breath and leaned in close. "Sam." He started out quietly, and let the volume build. "Settle down, and I do mean now, or I will rip out your intestines with me bare hands and _strangle you to death with them, have you got that?_ "

Sam was actually quiet for a moment, shocked into silence. Then he laughed. At least Gene thought it was a laugh. It could easily have been a sob. "Yes, Guv."

Maybe Gene had got him to focus on something else; maybe the drugs had spiked through whatever they were doing to his system and were easing off. Either way his breathing was calming, finally; his heartbeat wasn't quite as frantic. It was a result.

He lay back on the cold floor of the warehouse, taking a deep breath, and immediately Sam started shifting restlessly again. "Guv?"

"Dammit, Sam, stop whinging. I'm right here."

"I can't--"

"You great nancy," Gene grumbled, and shifted over, right up against Sam. "Happy now?"

Sam didn't answer, but Gene could feel him relaxing, could feel the pounding of his heart lessen. Sam's head drooped forward, onto Gene's shoulder.

"Do not get comfortable, Tyler," Gene warned. "I don't give a toss how high you're flying, you do not get to treat me as your personal teddy bear."

As per usual, Sam didn't appear to have heard. "And the stars look very different today," he mumbled into Gene's neck.

Gene felt a sudden urge for a cigarette. He felt in his pockets before remembering that they'd been emptied. "Bugger."

Sam's breathing was calm, now, his body completely relaxed. "If you drool on me, that's me foot up your backside." But there was no answer.

Gradually he became aware of movement. Small, rhythmic movements, Sam's hips pushing against his own-- "Oi. Stop that, you perv." He reached down to move Sam away, and as his hand brushed against the front of Sam's trousers, Sam made another of those little breathy sounds and arched toward him.

Gene's own reaction was immediate, and he considered it, actually considered it for a moment. Sam would never know, and wouldn't Gene really be doing him a favor?

Sam wouldn't remember. Probably. Wasn't even thinking in actual words at the moment. Certainly had no idea what he was doing, rubbing off on his DCI. But if he did remember...Gene could picture his face, once he'd sobered up and realized. Wide-eyed, horrified, and even though he'd stopped wittering on about Hyde, this might be enough to actually make him carry out that threat about going home. No. Wasn't worth it. He withdrew his hand rather regretfully."Sorry, Tyler. You're on your own for this one. You want to start something, you'll have to prove you're in your right mind first, and that should be interesting."

As he moved away, he heard the noises he'd been too occupied otherwise to notice previously. Sirens growing louder, the screech of brakes as cars pulled up outside wherever they were. By the time the CID men burst through the door, Ray and Chris in the lead, Gene was propping up the wall again, a decent distance from Tyler. The combination of frustrated libido and pain from his leg made it easy to scowl menacingly in their direction. "What the bloody hell took you so long?"

*********************

"Boss!" Gene heard Chris in the outer office, standing up and tripping over something. "We found your jacket when we searched the warehouse last night. I brought it in for you."

"Thanks, Chris. Wouldn't want to lose that." He heard Sam approaching, and he lit a cigarette, managing to look completely absorbed in his paperwork by the time Sam opened the door cautiously.

He looked up and raised his eyebrows. "Back from Never-Never Land, are we, Dorothy?"

"I think you're mixing up your imaginary worlds." Sam closed the door carefully and surveyed him. "They let me out this morning once I'd slept it all off. What about you? They said you'd been hurt as well."

Gene shrugged. "Me and the doctor had words. They couldn't get me out of there fast enough." The words had been over whether he'd be allowed to stay with Sam until he was certain his DI was out for the night. Sam had had a few more bouts of sweating and shaking while Gene's knee was being strapped. Although none of them had been as bad as the first, he had no intention of leaving Sam on his own until he was satisfied about his condition. The doctor had seen reason. Eventually. No need to get into that, though.

He looked closely at Sam. The bruise that he'd predicted was turning a nice shade of purple, but otherwise he looked normal. "So...you're all done seeing visions and such?"

"With any luck." Sam had been studying the poster on his wall; now he looked sidelong at Gene. "Was that what I was doing? Seeing visions?"

"I don't know what the hell you were doing, Tyler. I never know what you're doing when you're _not_ on drugs. Don't you remember?"

It was Sam's turn to shrug. "Not much."

Gene wasn't sure whether what he felt was relief or regret. "Doesn't matter. Ray's got a lead on where Wilson's gone to ground and he's out following that up. And I'm sure there are plenty more cases on your desk awaiting your attention."

Sam nodded and turned to go. Then he turned back, hesitating. "Gene..."

Gene frowned at him. "What?"

"I don't remember much. Only that...I was really scared. And you were there."

"Those two things generally do go together. Any villain in this city'll tell you that."

"No. That's not what I meant. I just wanted to say--"

"So help me, Tyler, if you were any more of a girl you'd have Ray asking you for a date."

Sam grinned at him. "I don't want to date Ray."

"Well, that is a relief. Now get out of me office and go and do some real work."

"Yes, Guv. Er...have you seen my handcuff keys anywhere? I thought they might be in my jacket, but they're not."

Gene sat back and regarded Sam narrowly, seeing only innocence in his face. "I fail to see how your carelessness with departmental property is of any interest to me."

Sam ducked his head. "No. You're right. Sorry, Guv. Wilson's gang probably nicked 'em anyway."

He headed for the door, and Gene's mind raced. Had that been disappointment in Sam's eyes? There was only one way to find out.

"Have you checked your flat?"

Sam looked up. "Yeah, I did. But...maybe I should look again?"

Gene rolled his eyes. "Oh, you are hopeless, Gladys. Would you like me to come over and have a look round for you? I am after all a highly trained detective."

"Sure, Guv. You wouldn't mind? Only I'm not having any luck on my own, and I thought maybe another pair of eyes, or...set of hands..." There, right there, that was definitely a wicked glint in Sam's eyes, and Gene's trousers were suddenly far too tight.

He swallowed. "Go on, Tyler. We'll sort our your equipment problem later."

"I'm counting on it. After all, the Gene Genie doesn't leave his men hanging." Sam gave him a wide grin and strode out the door, leaving Gene calculating exactly how soon he could get the both of them out of the office without rousing suspicion. Maybe that knee injury was going to prove useful after all.


End file.
